The Praise of an Intelligent Servant
by masterofpemberley
Summary: "What praise is more valuable than the praise of an intelligent servant?" ―Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice See one of the most beloved literary heroes through the eyes of his loyal housekeeper.


Hello, all! I am so thrilled to be here and writing. These little drabbles are all I have to preserve my sanity as I'm the mother of two small children. I love Pride and Prejudice a little more than the average bear and have been scared beyond reckoning to throw something out into the internet. It can be a daunting and scary place. But I desire to share these writings with you, dear readers. I would love to one day publish a piece of JAFF at a true publishing house or at least self-publish, but that seems a long cry off. Until then, appreciate my little ditties in serial form. I hope this can be a fun, encouraging place! Material is copyright of me. Please, I beg of you, please do not steal.

"What praise is more valuable than the praise of an intelligent servant?"

―Jane Austen, _Pride and Prejudice_

Mrs. Reynolds had been in the Darcy employ for the past twenty four years as housekeeper of their ancestral estate of Pemberley in Derbyshire. Within that time, she had seen nearly every aspect of the family who lived there, their comings and goings, their joyful times as well as their times of despair.

Never had she seen such desolation as that on her beloved Master's face as he had alighted from his carriage after the time spent in Kent visiting his aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh. A deeply private man, she had not seen much alteration to his features since his beloved father had passed on some years prior. She had indeed hoped _never_ to see the hopelessness she sat seen etched on his dear face, his brow so deeply furrowed as to render him quite frightening. His demeanor had softened upon seeing her, and the beginnings of a tight smile worked against the edge of taut lips as he formed a soft greeting. His voice was low but pleasant as it nearly always was when he spoke with her.

True to his nature, having never uttered a cross word to her in all his years, he was endearing as ever, even in such a state! She dared not pry; it was truly not the office of a servant to know what his or her master was thinking, even if that master was the kindest and truly the most civil to have ever been. There was the fleeting temptation to cup his cheek as she had in his youth whenever a grievous wrong had befallen him, but she had instead observed him curiously as he passed, an agitated heaviness to his usual elegant bearing.

He was soon out of sight and she wondered what had caused such a beleaguered countenance. It brought him no great pleasure to visit Rosings, to be sure, but he was a man who diligently upheld every duty that he shouldered. She, herself, could claim no great love for Lady Catherine, having seen the way she treated her younger sister, Lady Anne, whenever she had occasioned to visit those many years ago. His cousin, the colonel, had accompanied him, and she knew the two to have remained close as they had been as boys. Could the two of them have had a falling out? Surely not! Colonel Fitzwilliam was as loyal a friend as any and shared the guardianship of dear Miss Georgiana!

She alighted the stairs and gained the next floor, calling out to one of the chambermaids as she passed. Louisa blushed furiously as she had been caught in the midst of a daydream and hastened to Mrs. Reynolds' side, an apologetic smile touching her lips. "Forgive me, Mrs. Reynolds, I was only thinking. . ."

"Of the under-gardener, yes, yes. . ., " Mrs. Reynolds tutted, a twinkle in her eye as the girl's startled expression was sufficient confirmation of her suspicion. "Mr. Darcy is returned. There will be a little less of that while he is about. Yes?"

Louisa had colored, nodded, and bobbed a curtsey in rapid succession before returning to her chore of re-hanging the drapes in Miss Georgiana's private sitting room, fresh from being laundered and pressed.

It was some time later that Mrs. Reynolds found herself at a loss for rational thought. Mr. Darcy had only emerged from his chambers once since his arrival, and that was only to descend below stairs to seek her out to request that the large portrait of George Wickham be removed from the gallery as well as the smaller one that his father had requested to be painted of them together as young men. He had not explained himself, had truly not had to; she was inclined to believe that Mr. Wickham deserved no such place of honor in the home, though he had been a favorite of her old master. It had felt somehow wrong to voice what she truly felt of the vile and dissolute George Wickham, and so she had merely nodded and spoke a subdued, "Of course, Mr. Darcy, sir."

Darcy had nodded his thanks and had moved past her to collect his hat and gloves for riding. He turned about to face her, remembering something that had seemed to give him a moment's pause.

" Mrs. Reynolds."

"Yes sir?"

"Please, pray, do not remove the miniature of him that hangs above the mantelpiece in my father's favorite sitting room. That should remain exactly as it was as it gave him a great deal of pleasure to see it there." He looked benumbed to every sort of emotion as he spoke, and she felt sincere pity for him as he tugged his gloves on to his hands and avoided meeting her eyes. _Bless his generous soul. He would do well to never see the rake again, but he knows his father loved him well and is inclined to honor old Master Darcy. But what has he done again? We thought he in the militia and glad for it, too, for it meant he wouldn't be showing up here where he does not belong!_

She could not claim to know what had occurred between Master Fitzwilliam and that scoundrel of a man, for that was most certainly what he _was_ , but she knew it had been enough for Mr. Darcy's ire to be stirred to a remarkable degree, Darcy claiming upon his return from a visit to Ramsgate that George Wickham would _never_ be welcome upon Pemberley soil again.


End file.
